Rain
by CrimsonCobwebs
Summary: It aches when it rains, but Winry knows how to quell the pain - and it doesn't involve a wrench! EdWin oneshot/fluff. R


(Rain)

God, it hurt today.

Well, it hurt most days, to be honest.

No, actually, 'hurt' was too severe. 'Hurt' bought to mind sharp, bleeding pains like a cut or bullet wound. 'Ache' was probably more apt. Yes, _ache_. His shoulder ached something fierce today, and he knew why, too.

Edward Elric glared at the rain trickling down the window. The clouds outside were burdened, iron-grey and releasing their watery wrath upon the landscape with awe-inspiring fervour, turning country lanes into mud-baths and babbling crooks into roaring rivers. It hammered a mesmerising lullaby against the glass of the window and streaked down the surface, distorting the world outside, droplets sliding to the sill as if competing in a frantic race.

Ed huffed and rolled his shoulder.

God, it ached. He'd never told anyone this (it seemed of little import) but the rain always made it ache. Sure, he could tolerate it. He could tolerate most things. But it was a damn nuisance.

People often asked him if it ever hurt. By people, he meant ignorant, overly curious civilians who'd decided that a simple acquaintance was unspoken permission to start prying into his private business. And for God's sake, what a stupid question! Of course it didn't hurt, it was made of metal! Flesh, bones, blood, nerves: these equalled pain, not a complex network of rivets and metal.

Ed flexed his Automail fingers experimentally.

When those stupid people asked their stupid question he just averted his flaming gaze, huffed and simply answered 'no' because it was the truth and he got some perverse satisfaction from their thwarted expressions, or their looks of embarrassment, or their revelation that they _had _been rude to ask in the first place and now they were regretting it. And he would never relay any further information because they didn't deserve to know. It was his business and they could butt out.

Besides, it wasn't exactly the Automail that pained him: it was his shoulder and thigh, the living parts attached to the machine, especially where the nerve endings connected. Honestly, it was no different to any other muscle pain one would suffer from overexertion, but sometimes, on rainy days like today, the tender flesh around the beginnings of his Automail ached like nobody's business, as if the damp was sinking into the artificial joints and locking up (though Winry assured him this would never happen), and eventually the minor nagging would evolve into a throbbing pain-in-the-ass.

So he'd slyly popped a couple of painkillers, slunk up to his room and settled restlessly upon a chair by the window to glare furiously at the rain, just in case looks would make it stop.

So far, it wasn't working.

A gentle knocking at the door tore his thoughts in two. He cocked his head but didn't avert his gaze from the window as he called: "Come in."

He'd half expected it to be Al (he had been sulking upstairs for a good two hours now and Al usually got worried and checked on him once or twice) but Winry entered instead. He watched her reflection in the rain-streaked window as she cautiously edged into the room, an almost apologetic expression on her face.

"What?" he said, in no mood for the nagging that usually preceded Winry's arrival.

"Why are you moping about up here?" she snapped, a little sharper than intended. "Everyone's downstairs drinking coco. Don't you want some?"

"No."

"Why?"

"Why do you care?"

Winry inflated a little, like an irked mother hen, hands balling into fists and shoulder tensing. "Well _excuse _me, Mr Grumpy! I only wanted to see if you were alright! You've been up here for hours!"

Ed whirled on his chair. "I don't need you to -" he waved his Automail arm without thinking "- check - ah, ow! - up on me…"

Winry's eyes narrowed then widened, gaze suddenly fixed on his Automail, thinking, analysing, calculating. He cursed his instinctive gesture and resisted the urge to roll his tender shoulder. Now she was going to be on him like a ton of bricks!

He wasn't wrong, either.

"What have you done now, you idiot?!" she scolded, concern expressed through anger as per norm. "What's so hard about keeping your arm intact?"

"It _is _intact! It's working fine!"

"You're lying, Edward Elric!" she shot back, brandishing a spanner from thin air (or so it always seemed with Winry). "You never take care of your Automail, you're an ungrateful sod!"

Now Ed was getting mad. First the rain, then his shoulder, now this? He leapt from the chair and it toppled backward with a bang. "Leave me alone, woman! There's nothing wrong with the Goddamn Automail it's just the rain!"

Her eyebrow twitched into a prying arch and she lowered her makeshift weapon, lips parted. "Eh?"

Ed huffed. He righted the chair and turned it toward the window away from Winry and reclaimed his position, shoulders hunched. He was pissed that he'd let a weakness show, even if it was a little one. He hated that. Especially with Winry. He didn't want her to worry. He wanted her to think he was invincible so she'd never think twice about his safety when he went away.

Was that too much to ask?

He realised the question wasn't rhetoric.

"The rain?" she pressed, seeing as he wasn't volunteering further explanation. "What's wrong?"

He shrugged and absently raised a hand to his aching shoulder. It felt stiff, the muscles knotted. "It's nothing. Go away."

He didn't hear her approach. Perhaps it was the angry buzzing in his ears, or the soulful patter of rain against the window, or the rich carpet absorbing the soft treads of her bare feet. But as a result, he flinched when he felt her hand touch his shoulder, their fingertips brushing.

"Everything should be in order," she said as she ran her fingers across the lip of the mechanical arm. "Its connection is seamless, the metal is oiled, no evidence of dents -"

"S'not the Automail," Ed supplied tersely. He was angry with her for assuming she could just saunter up and start fiddling with his arm. Sure, it was her creation but it was attached to his shoulder. His property. She should bloody well ask!

He lurched forward as to disengage her hand from his shoulder.

"What then?" she pried, irritation hemming her tone again.

"I said it's nothing."

There was silence for a moment. It piqued him because he knew she contemplating his 'faulty' Automail. Couldn't she take a hint and leave?

He was about to voice his thoughts when suddenly the hand returned and probed the bunched flesh beside his neck. The pressure hurt a little and he attempted to shake her off, but her grip would not be vanquished so easily this time.

"I see," she said, "the rain makes it ache, right? Yeah, I've heard of this. People with, um, artificial knee caps and so on get it too. It's natural."

Ed grunted. "Natural to get ache in your artificial limb. Irony, much?"

Winry laughed and now he was painfully aware of how smooth her palm was despite the mechanical labour she pursued. Why was that? She must use lotions, he figured, but didn't know much on cosmetic junk like that so didn't pursue the train of thought further. Why did she have her hand on his neck anyway?

"So it's your shoulder," she continued correctly. Her fingers teased the pressure from his aching muscle. "Yeah, I can feel it. All knotted. I can even see -" She poked a particularly prominent fleshy nub and he batted her hand away and bit down a rather unmanly yelp of pain.

"Ge'off!" he yelled, and awaited her inevitable brusque reply.

But none came.

"You're hopeless, Ed, you know that?" Her voice was as soft as the pattering of rain against the window.

And then her hand returned, slightly warmed now, and with a mechanic's precision and Winry's force, began massaging his tender shoulder.

Ed startled a little and stiffened, back ramrod straight. "What the Hell -?"

But all she said was: "Be quiet, you idiot" and continued to knead his shoulder with her knuckles and surprisingly-smooth fingers.

He couldn't rid the tension from his figure immediately, nor prevent the blush from scorching his face, and that really pissed him off. Seriously, what was she playing at? That girl had more mood swings than a pregnant woman watching soap operas!

His golden gaze inevitably returned to the rain-streaked window, but this time he only pretended to consider the weather. He scrutinized Winry's ghostly reflection in the glass instead, observed the little frown marring her complexion and the way her lips were pursed in concentration.

That relaxed him a little. Clearly this was just another job to her, like fixing his Automail. Her motives remained questionable, however, and that stirred the embers of his awkwardness again, so the thought was quickly pushed aside and he forced himself to relax somewhat, reclining against the back of the chair.

Nonetheless, he simply couldn't tear his gaze from Winry's reflection.

She had her hair down. That was different. Winry rarely had her hair down. It was muted blonde in the glass, tumbling past the curve of her neckline in dishevelled locks, coiling at the ends and slightly wispy from moisture in the air.

Suddenly, he was overwhelmed with an inexplicable urge to reach out and slide his fingers through her tresses, discover if they were as soft as they looked. Why did he want to know something stupid like that? It was only hair, for God's sake.

A second hand suddenly joined the first, then breezed against the nape of his neck, moving to the other shoulder. He was about to protest - he only had one Automail arm Goddammit! - but when her fingers began rubbing firm circles over tense muscle the objection whispered away in his throat, a low moan almost escaping his parted lips.

Still, he didn't stop watching her. He couldn't take his eyes off her, though as to why, he was still clueless.

Was it just the reflection, or had Winry's complexion reddened a shade or two?

He mentally shrugged. Probably not.

And besides, he couldn't think clearly now. Not for the life of him. He wallowed in the heady pool of pleasure she was supplying, feeling the tension drain from his tired muscles like coffee from a filter.

His eyelids drooped closed but he continued to watch her, golden eyes peering from indistinguishable slits.

She was wearing a lilac dress that swooped daringly low at the neckline, so much so that even with the wool scarf wrapped about her neck, a triangle of bare flesh was still revealed, along with the gentle swell of her -

__

Dear God, stop that stop that right there right there!

He shuffled a little uncomfortably. Thinking those thoughts about Winry was…was… weird. Weird and yet… maybe a little… a little…

"Sorry, am I hurting you?"

He jumped. "Huh? Oh err… no."

"Okay."

Her voice was a feathery whisper. He returned his gaze to the window and saw his breath had steamed up the freezing glass. He found he wanted to wipe it away so he could resume surreptitiously examining Winry but found himself very weak. No, not weak. What was the word?

Relaxed.

He settled back into the chair and she resumed the massage. Her fingers slid down his shoulders, snaking beneath his black shirt and kneading his back. He found himself leaning forward a little, eyes finally shut, seeming to purr deep in his throat. Any thought of embarrassment had fled with the tides of pleasure her hands were bestowing. Everything fell away into a pulsing, comfortable blankness.

His shoulder finally stopped aching.

When Winry left, Ed was fast asleep, forehead pressed against the window, light snores escaping parted lips.

_A/N: This is my first FMA fic, so I hope you like it! Personally, I love EdWin. They're an awesome couple. Anyway, if it touched you please leave a review, I'd like to get feed back, I'd especially like to know if they were IC._


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